“AIDS,” thought Frank, “doesn’t the fool know it’s rampant?”
“You don’t want the sordid details, Frank... or do you? Never no mind, I can’t hardly remember, but I do know I hit the gay bars... in search of company.”
Frank didn’t know what to say.
“I dunno what to say, Jim.”
“One morning, fighting my way up from a Cointreau hangover, I noticed the blotches... I’ve had them checked, they’re Karposki’s and that spells only one thing... the old one way ticket. Good night, Irene.”
“God Almighty.”
“I don’t want to be facetious, Frank, but I don’t think God has anything to do with it.”
“But there’s treatments, other diagnosis.”
“Yo, Barkeep, bring a couple of malt whiskeys... make em big ones... and one for yerself.”
Frank was glad to hear they’d be large. Jim continued,
“There’s some lines of Sylvia Plath that fit how I feel those nights after Helen left. I can’t quote them exactly, but I’ve got the drift. I certainly got the message,
‘I am inhabited by a cry
nightly it flaps out
looking with its talons
for something
to hook onto.’
“Each night, I’d drink and the loneliness of the house was pure terror, so I’d go stalking, like some sexual predator. Jesus, did I ever hook onto a big one. The greatest plague since the Middle Ages and I went out and grabbed it. But there is a point to all this, Frank, and believe it or not, I’m nearly ready to make it.”
He took a huge swallow of his drink and grimaced as the spirit hit his throat, then set the glow in his chest.
“Ah, the spirit moves me. Did you ever see a movie called Fried Green Tomatoes?”
“Must have missed that one?”
“You shouldn’t have. Jessica Tandy’s character tells how she had a baby and they said it wasn’t right. It would be best if she gave it up. But she always believed there was a special God for children. The child lived for 30 years and never gave her a day’s trouble. He was the joy of her life. She was impatient to die so she could be re-united with him.”
Frank loved the story, he couldn’t wait to tell Cathy. He was also, he realized, more than a little drunk. Jim moved his hand in a slicing motion.
“Now, finally, the point of all this. As a child, I had it all, brains, roots family, sporting ability. As the yanks say, I was voted the one most like to. I did good in college, got a good job, married a beauty. See what I’ve become. Or Helen, similar story to mine. Nowadays she roams Hampstead Heath telling nannies that Jesus loves them. Most of them don’t even speak English!
“So Frank, your little girl, all the things they say about her, don’t burden her from the out. If I know anything she’ll surprise them all. You love her, that’s the ticket. I wish she was mine.”
Frank felt a maudlin mood hover. He said,
“The social worker came yesterday. She said when we spoke to Serena-May, we should accompany the words with hand signals. When we say hello, we should use the salute sign.”
Jim fumed, then asked,
“And Cathy, what did she say?”
“Oh, she waxed eloquent, she said, ‘Kiss my ass,’ that Serena-May had Down’s Syndrome, not deafness. They’re telling us we’ve got to keep the child stimulated. Cathy asked if loving care and attention was any relation.”
“Frank, you’ve got three kids of professionals,
1. Assholes
2. Wankers
3. and finally, Social Workers.”
Cathy asked her mother,
“When people look at Serena-May, can they see the Down’s?”
“No, I asked a few people and they were stunned to hear it. Does it bother you now?”
“Believe it or not, I couldn’t care less. It used to. Those first few months. I was so conscious for her sake... and mine. I can’t believe she’s going to be a year old. I feel it’s me who’s grown up. Sometimes I think I read too much. A book said that unlike other children, her teeth would appear willy-nilly. But her bottom teeth arrived like any child.”
Dolores was watching Serena-May crawl. Heinz would cruise by and give her a half-heartened lick. The child would make a grab for him, but he’d learnt from experience. Once had been painful as his ear was tugged ferociously. No one could accuse him of over-loving the baby. But he kept his eyes on her and knew with a sigh that he’d have to guard her continually. It was a dog thing. He might not be wild about her, but he sure wasn’t going to let anyone mess with her. Perhaps he’d grow absurdly fond of her, but he doubted it.
Still, he took what was going on and endless treats appeared just by staying near her. His baby vigilance had near restored him to his owners’ full attention. “So,” he’d reckoned, “the old glory days were gone and the number one position had fled, but it could be worse.”
Dolores picked up Serena-May and her heart melted anew. As the child gave a devastating smile, it seemed as if her eyes would disappear with the breath of the smile. Serena-May waited expectantly for Dolores to begin.
On the first word
Row!
she began to gurgle and move.
Dolores recited,
“Row row
row the boat
gently down the stream...”
Serena-May looked over her shoulder to see if her mother was getting this. Cathy, as usual, was consumed with a love that she felt was near certifiable.
The recital continued,
“Merrily merrily,
merrily merrily,
life is but...”
Big pause.
And Serena-May caught her breath.
Cathy and her mother choruses,
“A dream.”
Such times. Cathy remember the morning when she’d been dancing with the baby as the radio played,
“Save the last dance for me.”
This was followed by a Garth Brooks song. The DJ told how the singer had a baby daughter. He’d looked in on his daughter one night, and thought if he died, would the little girl know how much he loved her? Thus he wrote,
“If tomorrow never comes.”
The song had crucified Cathy. A tremendous fear, always dormant, was what would become of Serena-May if she and Frank were gone. But the baby answered that by demanding her attention there and then.
Part of Frank’s attraction for Cathy was his seriousness. He’d loosened up a lot in ten years, but he still expected news to be bad rather than good. A waltzing with down-right solemnity was always close to him. And then he’d lighten up unexpectedly and redeem all. It was the not knowing that added to his attraction. Cathy would never have dreamed of telling him. Such knowledge would have tipped him over to full seriousness.
Cathy looked now at Serena-May. She seemed to have inherited both of their characteristics. Just as people would remark.
“What a serious little girl.”
She’d launch one of her heart-kicking smiles and they’d say,
“Isn’t she as content!”
Frank had said, only once,
“If she’s a mix of us then it means she’ll skip down the street and drop a piece of litter without a care. But, later she’ll sneak back and put it in the bin.”
Cathy said,
“But you don’t litter... do you, Frank?”
A description by Chateaubriand described Serena’s face exactly,
“The more serious the face, the more beautiful the smile.”
Cathy resolved yet again to return to reading. In Serena-May’s time, she bought the paper daily and hadn’t once opened it. She thought she might just as well go into the newsagent, pay them but not actually take the paper. Sort of cut out the middleman, which was the actual reading. Frank read reams of Down’s Syndrome, but it depressed him. She noticed he’d skip over any photos in the books. It had taken her a long time to be able to observe children with Down’s Syndrome.